


Twenty-Two

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Enjoltaire Gift Exchange, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire finds out firsthand how affectionate Enjolras is when drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Two

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for tumblr user bahormel as part of the Enjoltaire Gift Exchange. It kind-of spiraled off into its own thing, so I'm sorry if it's not what you were hoping for! 
> 
> A million thanks to Ardatli, as always, and fellowship-of-the-superwholock for betaing the first draft. Any mistakes are really my own fault for taking so obscenely long to edit that I couldn't get betaing for the final draft. 
> 
> And just to be completely clear, there's nothing of even dubcon nature. So, no worries if you're not into that.

There were several reasons Enjolras didn’t drink often. First of all, he was a lightweight. There was no shying around it; after only a few drinks, Enjolras would be the wrong side of tipsy and at least a little out of it. He made an amiable drunk but, well, the second reason he didn’t drink often: he always managed to embarrass himself. A friendly, drunken Enjolras tended to decide to do things like make out with an equally drunken Jehan or give a rambling speech on the importance of equality and why that meant Courfeyrac should stop being so pretty. It was always fun at the moment, but when he woke up the next morning, his drunken antics mortified him. Reason three was simply the horrible hangovers he suffered through the following day. Enjolras didn’t think a night full of embarrassment was worth the pounding headaches, vomiting, and complete waste of time he could be using to do something _important_ rather than feeling miserable.

It made much more sense to him to remain sober on the rare nights he went out; he didn’t embarrass himself, he didn’t end up suffering through a hangover, and he still had a good time with his friends.

But tonight— _tonight_ was different. Tonight they were celebrating—it was the end of the semester—exams were finished, every last final paper was turned in, and many of them were graduating. _Enjolras_ was graduating. Tonight Courfeyrac had convinced every one of them—even Combeferre, who disliked the party scene all together—to go out and “do it right” one last time. Tonight Enjolras was in too good of a mood to say no when Bossuet pushed a drink in his hand. When that drink was finished, amongst the laughter and stories and grins of his friends, he had another without thinking. And then another.

That was how he ended up on stage at the small bar’s karaoke night, hips swaying as he belted out Taylor Swift’s “22.” His cheeks were flushed and he stumbled on some of the words through his laughter. Despite the lights and the crowd, he could see his friends laughing along and it only made him grin further. It was _fun_ and nothing in him could think to feel embarrassed.

**

When Enjolras stepped off stage, the song having finished, Grantaire intercepted him. He grinned, a bit smug, but that seemed to go over Enjolras’ pretty little intoxicated head. Enjolras smiled back, wide and earnest, as he threw an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Nice song choice,” Grantaire commented, steering him back towards the table in the corner where their friends had once been. He could see Cosette ushering a bunch of them towards the stage, presumably for a group song. Under normal circumstances, he would have been pushing up front to get a good video of it on his phone, but right now Enjolras was more pressing—and still half-leaning on him. “Looks like somebody had a few drinks.”

“Did you like it?” Enjolras’ grin stretched wide across his heat-flushed cheeks. “A lot of people hate her, but y’know T Swift’s alright.”

Grantaire was on the verge of laughing.

“And I’m twenty-two, you know. It’s perfect.”

“Yes, very clever,” Grantaire agreed, nudging Enjolras to sit down in the booth.

Once Grantaire was beside him, Enjolras moved an arm back around his shoulder and pressed against his side. “It’s not just that, though. There’s more to the song.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Is there?” His face was flushed and he would gladly blame it on the warmth of the bar, but he knew it probably had a little bit to do with the lack of personal space and the fact Enjolras was close enough to count eyelashes.

Enjolras’ gaze flickered down to Grantaire’s chapped lips, tongue darting out over his own. “Yeah. ‘ _I gotta have you,’”_ he sang the line softly. “You’re the one I gotta have, R.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows rose and he tried to disentangle himself from Enjolras’ arm. This was the start of something _bad_. Something he did _not_ want to deal with and something Enjolras would hate himself for in the morning. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

Determined and grinning rather dopily, Enjolras only pressed closer and moved his hand to Grantaire’s thigh. “You’re really hot, you know?”

“Enj—“

“Like _really_ hot,” he purred, moving ever closer until his breath fell hotly across Grantaire’s ear. Grantaire swallowed audibly. “I want to tie you to my bed and lick your abs.”

Grantaire’s eyes went wide; his expression was torn between laughter, desire, and uncertainty. “You can’t just _say that_.”

“Yes I can. I’ve seen your abs, they’re very lickable,” Enjolras answered with a dangerous smirk. His hand moved up Grantaire’s thigh until Grantaire let out a squeak and pushed his arm away.

“That is going to stop right now.” Grantaire’s voice was strained.

Enjolras pouted. “I don’t see why.”

“Because—“

Enjolras let his head fall on Grantaire’s shoulder, his hand moving to toy with Grantaire’s belt.

“ _Stop that!”_ Grantaire urged, pushing his hand away more firmly. “Stop. You’re drunk.”

“You have pretty lips.” He traced a finger around Grantaire’s lips slowly as he spoke.

Grantaire’s eyes squeezed shut and he grit his teeth. If this was some sort of payback from the universe for all the times he’d been terribly drunk, it wasn’t funny.

Combeferre appeared suddenly, an angel in Grantaire’s time of need, clearing his throat and diverting at least part of Enjolras’ attention.

“Thank God,” Grantaire breathed. “Help me.”

“Enjolras?” Combeferre prompted softly, looking infinitely amused.

“Hmm?”

“I think it’s time we get you home, okay?”

A childish pout returned to his face. “No, I want to stay with Grantaire.”

“Enjolras—“

He shook his head immediately, golden curls grazing across Grantaire’s cheek, and clutched at Grantaire’s arm. “No.”

Combeferre sighed and looked hopelessly at Grantaire. “Look, he’s even more stubborn when he’s inebriated—“

“Are you _abandoning me_?” Grantaire asked, voice rising in panic. Combeferre wasn’t the kind of guy to abandon a friend—Combeferre _couldn’t_.

“I’ve got to stop Bahorel and Feuilly from breaking into Lasertron. Again,” he sighed exasperatedly. “The least you could do is manage Enjolras.” When Grantaire opened his mouth to argue, Combeferre fixed him with a stern look. “I didn’t want to do this, but you _owe_ me. I’ve taken care of you so many times.”

“But I never hit on you,” Grantaire grumbled, but knew he was beaten (if only because he knew the other option was to babysit Bahorel and Feuilly instead of Enjolras and that was _not_ a suggestion he was about to offer).

Combeferre grinned wryly. “Not that you can remember.” Before Grantaire could react, Combeferre was retreating. “Just take him home and put him to bed, alright? You’ll be fine.”

Grantaire groaned. Enjolras was mouthing at his neck now. Grantaire managed to squirm and push him away, his cheeks still flushed pink. “I need you to stop that, okay Apollo?”

“Why?” he whined. “I want to kiss you and Jehan said you would want to kiss me too.”

“Jehan said that?”

“Yeah. I told him everything,” Enjolras gestured widely, nearly hitting Grantaire in the face. “He said you liked me too and if we both like each other, we should be kissing right now I think.” Enjolras offered a charming grin. “Will you kiss me now?” he purred, leaning in close.

Grantaire pulled back quickly and managed this time to fully disentangle himself from Enjolras’ sprawling grip. “Let’s get you home.”

“For kissing?”

“For bed,” Grantaire insisted firmly, getting to his feet. He played anxiously with the hem of his shirt and bit at his lip, wondering how much Jehan had said and how much damage control he’d need to do the next time he saw Enjolras (which would certainly be a while away—oh yes, he was avoiding this as long as possible). “Bed.”

Enjolras smirked, standing and swaying drunkenly. “Okay, take me to bed,” he crooned, invading Grantaire’s space again.

“Not like—you know what, whatever,” Grantaire huffed, figuring he might as well play along. Whatever would get Enjolras home quickest. “Come on, stud. Let me take you to bed.”

A smile flitted over Enjolras’ lips and he, thankfully, let Grantaire lead him out of the bar.

The following cab ride turned out to be a highlight on the list of most embarrassing moments in Grantaire’s life. Enjolras took up whispering dirty things in his ear, though his attempt at whispering left very much to desire. As much as Grantaire tried to shut him down and push him away when he got handsy, Enjolras persisted and Grantaire was stuck strikingly aware of the fact the cab driver could hear—and see—everything. When they finally arrived, Grantaire avoided eye contact as he handed over a very large tip and hurried Enjolras out.

“Thank god,” Grantaire sighed, ushering Enjolras into his apartment. They were hardly in the room when Grantaire found himself pressed against the closed door. Enjolras’ mouth was on his a split second after.

Grantaire gave in immediately. His mouth opened under Enjolras’ demanding tongue and he kissed back fiercely, eyes slipping shut. It only lasted a moment, though, and then he was pushing Enjolras away. “You have _got_ to stop that,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Enjolras frowned petulantly. “Don’t you like me?”

“I like you too much,” Grantaire admitted, slipping out from his space between Enjolras and the wall. Enjolras turned to follow him as he moved inward in the apartment. “Just let me put you to bed,” he pleaded as he stopped walking, eyes wide and desperate. “ _Please_.”

Enjolras nodded solemnly and let Grantaire herd him towards the bedroom. He closed the door behind them and Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “I think you should have sex with me because I think you want to but you think I’m too drunk but I’m _not_. I’m just the right amount of drunk and I _really_ want to fuck you,” Enjolras insisted, leaning against the door. His lips were red and chapped and his hair messy; he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I—“ Grantaire paused, uncertainty and doubt radiating from him. And _how the hell_ was he going to maneuver out of this one? “Alright,” he said, finally. “But you have to take a nap first, okay? For at least half an hour.”

“Why?” Enjolras asked, a baffled look on his face.

Grantaire frowned in thought. “Because—ah—because I said so. And don’t you want to make me happy?”

A wide grin spread on Enjolras’ face and he nodded. “I’ll make you _so_ happy.” He started tugging his t-shirt over his head, struggling to get it off (and Grantaire held in his laughter). Once he pulled off his jeans and shoes, he willingly fell into his bed. When Grantaire started to move towards the door, he added, “No, you have to stay.”

“What?”

“Nap with me,” he insisted. “If I have to, you should have to. Fairness is really important. Like _really important._ ”

A smile tugged at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “Fine. I’ll stay.” He removed his shoes and, very tentatively, he climbed beside Enjolras in the bed, keeping space between them.

Enjolras latched on to him immediately, nuzzling his face into Grantaire’s chest as he hugged him close. “I want to kiss you all over,” he murmured into Grantaire’s shirt. He yawned. “Maybe—maybe sleeping was a good idea. A little bit of a good idea.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire ran his fingers soothingly through the mess of Enjolras’ hair until Enjolras was sighing pleasantly and pushing up into the touch.

“Mhmmm.”

Enjolras drifted off slowly and Grantaire waited and wondered if it would have been a better idea to deal with Bahorel and Feuilly after all.

**

When Enjolras awoke, the first thing he noticed was the slight headache. He counted that as a blessing. It didn’t feel like nails being pounded into his skull and he didn’t feel nauseous; he could handle a tiny headache.

The next thing he noticed was that he certainly wasn’t alone—and that’s when he cursed himself internally because _Grantaire_ and _everything he said to Grantaire last night_. Enjolras opened his eyes, squinting at the form he was wrapped around. Grantaire was still asleep.

He tried very carefully to disentangle his limbs, idly wondering if coffee would somehow make the situation better and whether or not Grantaire would make fun of him for last night forever. Somewhere in the process of pulling his leg out from between Grantaire’s, Grantaire stirred.

“Shit,” he let out when his eyes fell on Enjolras. He pulled away as efficiently as he could, finally separating the two of them. “I—sorry. I meant to leave when you conked out but I must have—I didn’t mean to sleep here.”

Enjolras fixed him with a confused look. “You’re apologizing? _I_ was the drunken one.”

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to be that drunk.”

“Oh god,” Enjolras groaned suddenly. “Tell me singing Taylor Swift was a dream.”

Grantaire smirked full out. “Sorry. Fairly sure it’s on YouTube already, too.”

Enjolras groaned again and hid his face in the pillow as Grantaire laughed softly. “And the cab ride? Did I really—“

“Grope me and tell me how much you wanted to suck me off in _enthusiastic_ detail? Yep.” Enjolras could practically hear the smirking in his tone. “I didn’t know you knew some of those words, really.” 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras told him earnestly, turning his head to look at Grantaire once more. “I—“

“It’s okay,” Grantaire cut in.

“More like _mortifying_.“

“I’ve been there.”

“It’s not how I wanted to go about this—“

“I know you were just saying stuff and you didn’t mean it. We can forget everything that happened—“

“Wait, what?” Enjolras looked at him in confusion, but Grantaire plowed on.

“—and go back to exactly what we were before and—“

Enjolras was frowning when he interrupted louder. “No, no, no. Stop.”

“Hmm?” Grantaire’s head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I wasn’t ‘just saying stuff.’”

“What?”

Enjolras sat up and Grantaire followed his example. “I meant everything I said—I wish I hadn’t _said so much_ , but I meant it all.” A flush took over his cheeks, extending down in red splotches over his neck. “Every embarrassingly put detail.”

Grantaire’s eyes went wide and he looked a sight; all messy dark curls and rumpled clothes. “Really?”

“Really,” Enjolras confirmed.

Grantaire let out a whistle, running a hand through his hair.

Enjolras smiled softly for a moment, but the frown returned. “I wouldn’t be insincere to you—even drunk.”  

“But—you’ve never,” Grantaire paused, looking suddenly doubtful. “For the record, what do you remember saying to me?”

“Mostly that I, uh, want to have sex with you,” Enjolras could still feel the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks. “But I know I mentioned my feelings at least once.”

Grantaire opened then closed his mouth, shaking his head again. The disbelief lingered on his face.

“I’ve been working on telling you,” Enjolras shared. “I had a plan—a _good_ plan. I assure you, it would have been very impressive and romantic. Combeferre helped.”

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow, but looked no more convinced. “Seriously?”

Enjolras frowned. “Of course.” He watched as Grantaire faltered with the idea; he was starting to grow frustrated with Grantaire’s lack of belief.

“Go on a date with me,” Enjolras insisted, determined. “I’d _really_ like it if you would.”

“You’re not just—“

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted with little patience. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Is it _that_ hard to believe I like you genuinely?”

“I… alright.” Grantaire looked a little in awe, but he was smiling all the same. “Alright, I’ll go out with you.”

“Good,” Enjolras sighed, smiling back. This certainly wasn’t how he _planned_ for things to go, but he imagined it could have gone a lot worse. They hadn’t argued yet, at least.

“So wait,” Grantaire started, looking vastly amused and still a little uncertain. “If you meant _everything_ , does that mean you really want to lick my abs?”

Enjolras groaned and hid his face in his hands when Grantaire laughed at him. “I am never getting drunk again. Ever.”

A hesitance settled between them as Grantaire’s laughter faded and the moment passed; Enjolras raised his gaze.

“I guess I should go?” Grantaire’s voice was full of uncertainty and his fingers played with the sheets. “I’m sure you have things to do?”

“No,” Enjolras responded immediately—forcefully. He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to play out (he’d certainly never asked someone out like this before), but he knew he didn’t want Grantaire to leave him now. “I mean, stay for breakfast. Let me make up for last night.”

Grantaire’s smile returned in full brightness. “No worries, I will be thoroughly enjoying the memories of last night for some time to come.”

“At my expense, no doubt,” Enjolras sighed, a slight fondness in the twitch of a smile on his features. He climbed out of bed, wobbling as a wave of faintness washed over him.

Grantaire was at his side in an instance, an arm around his waist. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Enjolras resisted his usual urge to snap and pull away. Instead, he let Grantaire guide him carefully towards the door.

“Hungover?” Grantaire suggested. “I definitely don’t miss that,” he added with a hint of a laugh as he led Enjolras into the kitchen and urged him down into a chair. Immediately, he flitted around the kitchen to put on coffee and start making breakfast.

“Just a dizzy spell,” Enjolras dismissed. “Low blood sugar. I’m fine. You don’t have to do that,” he added insistently, as Grantaire pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard Enjolras hadn’t known _had_ cooking supplies in it. “I offered _you_ breakfast, not the other way around.”

Grantaire turned to face him, giving him an unimpressed look. “Let me do something nice, alright?”

“You already _have_.”

“Let me do another nice something, then,” he pressed, turning back to what he was doing.

Enjolras sighed heavily, with the intent of Grantaire hearing him, but gave in. He even murmured a small, “thank you” as he watched Grantaire begin to fry eggs.

“I get to plan the date, though,” Enjolras decided.

Grantaire smiled softly and Enjolras felt his heart flutter in a way that nearly made him annoyed. It was certainly never his intent to let someone make him feel so out of control—and that’s how it felt, like he _couldn’t keep his head clear_. And yet, it was all worth it for that smile. (And maybe he understood Marius a little better now).

“As long as your idea of a date isn’t going to a protest.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’m not completely inept at dating.”

Grantaire gave him appraising look, then turned back to the eggs. “If you say so.”

“You’ll see.”

**

Three days later, Enjolras took Grantaire on their first _official_ date—because breakfast didn’t count, nor did hanging out watching tv. A real date meant plans and impressing the person you were dating. In those regards, Enjolras succeeded spectacularly by taking Grantaire to an art exhibit at the local art gallery and then out for dinner. Not only could he tell the date was well chosen by the way Grantaire talked non-stop, but he hardly saw the smile slip from Grantaire’s face and even less did Grantaire’s fingers fall from Enjolras’.

Still, Enjolras expected the date to end when they finally meandered back to Grantaire’s apartment. He hadn’t been presumptuous enough to think Grantaire would invite him inside with a jittery, “uh, we could have coffee or something. If you want?” He certainly hadn’t thought Grantaire would end up making out with him on the couch (forgetting completely about coffee— _terrible host_ ) before dragging him back to his bedroom. And there had been absolutely no part in Enjolras’ mind that thought the night would involve being naked in Grantaire’s bed with Grantaire on top of him, needy sounds falling from his lips.

“ _Grantaire_ ,” he breathed out, frustrated.

“Need something?” Grantaire teased, grinding his hips down against Enjolras’. A breathy moan from Enjolras echoed Grantaire’s own grunting whine.

Enjolras pulled him demandingly into a kiss, full of teeth and tongue. Grantaire tasted a little like spearmint gum; Enjolras’ fingers tightened in Grantaire’s dark curls, tugging until Grantaire groaned. When he tugged Grantaire back, his lips were full and dark and wet.

 “Do _something_ ,” Enjolras growled hoarsely, hips bucking up to seek out _glorious friction._ “Stop teasing.”

Grantaire smirked, but obediently dropped his head to suck at the flushed skin of Enjolras’ neck. “As you wish,” he murmured. His hand wrapped around Enjolras’ cock and any composure Enjolras had was lost.

Whimpers escaped his lips at the quick strokes of Grantaire’s hand—the pressure just the right side of too much. Grantaire swiped his thumb over the head, smearing precum, and his breath hitched; he could feel Grantaire’s smug smile against his collarbone.

“I want—“ Enjolras cut off with a whining noise, blunt fingernails digging into Grantaire’s shoulders.

“What?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he snapped in frustration, and Grantaire had the gall to chuckle against Enjolras’ flushed skin.

He was close. Grantaire had been teasing him too long and, honestly, Grantaire himself was intoxicating. Arousal and heat coiled in Enjolras’ stomach, building with each stroke. Enjolras let out a high sound, pulling Grantaire upward into a sloppy kiss and that was all he needed. He came hard into Grantaire’s palm, groaning into his mouth.

Grantaire stroked him through his orgasm, only pulling his hand away when Enjolras started squirming. He broke their kiss.

Enjolras stared at him hazily, feeling warm and dizzy. “You haven’t come,” he pointed out.

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire mumbled, rocking so his cock rubbed against Enjolras’ hip. Enjolras gasped pleasantly at the sensation, kissing messily at Grantaire’s jaw. He could feel Grantaire’s hot breath coming in rapid gasps against his shoulder.

“Do you need—“

“Not really.” Grantaire’s voice came out high and strangled as his thrusting turned desperate. It only took a few moments before he moaned, low and obscene, and Enjolras felt come splatter across his skin.

Grantaire rolled over, collapsing on the bed. His hand found Enjolras’ and their fingers laced together, their heavy breathing filling the air until Enjolras finally spoke.

“I should—“

“Stay,” Grantaire interrupted, seeming to know what Enjolras was going to say.

Enjolras let out a content sound he wouldn’t admit to and squirmed closer, snuggling into Grantaire’s side.

Grantaire grimaced. “You’re all sweaty and _sticky_.”

“Get over it,” Enjolras yawned, feeling lazy down to the bone. His body was still thrumming and tingling pleasantly, leaving him satisfied and sleepy—and completely uncaring about their mess.

“No,” Grantaire bickered, running a hand through Enjolras’ wild hair. “I am cleaning you or you are sleeping on the floor.”

Enjolras tried to huff but the corners of his lips twitched upwards, betraying him. “ _Fine_.” He let Grantaire drag him into the shower to wash slowly and kiss tenderly until the water ran cold.

When they were clean and dry, with Enjolras borrowing some of Grantaire’s clothes, they fell back into bed. Enjolras curled up against Grantaire immediately, unabashedly happy to cuddle. As he drifted towards sleep to Grantaire’s steady heartbeat and gentle stroking through his hair, Enjolras couldn’t help but smile.


End file.
